


Verbalize: When It Needs To Be Said

by mansikka



Series: Verbalize [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Keeping Jack both busy and in the bunker seems like a great idea to Sam, Dean, and Cas, giving him free rein to catalog all their previously uncataloged books. But when Dean walks in on Jack reading from a book with Cas in close proximity, that free rein might prove problematic. Though where's the harm in things unspoken becoming things that are said out loud?





	Verbalize: When It Needs To Be Said

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> Here's our offering for the Dean/Cas Tropefest Mid-Winter 5k. It's set towards the end of the Tombstone episode where Jack leaves, only in this story they convince him to stay in the bunker, and canon diverges from there.
> 
> Art is by the ever-amazing dmsilvis, beta-ing by Wayward Mom; thanks to both of you for taking part in this with me! <3

(art by [dmsilvis](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/))

* * *

 

“He doing okay?”

Dean nods towards Jack slumped over the library table and waits for Cas give him an answer, trying and failing to be looking elsewhere when Cas’ gaze comes to settle on his face.

“Better. We talked for many hours about… many things. It’s going to take him some time to understand, but I think between us we can convince him. He is, after all, technically still only a child.”

Jack had nearly left them less than twenty-four hours earlier, frustration on his face for doing wrong every time he tried to help. Jack’s grown on Dean, far more than he wanted him to, far more than he ever planned on letting him. And Dean can’t deny, like he denies so very many other things, that a good part of that change of heart is because of the man stood in front of him, staring at him like he's _looking_ for something.

Cas looks tired, Dean thinks, forgetting he’s not supposed to be staring back, getting lost in eyes that not so long ago he didn’t think he’d get to see again. Cas’ comment about not sleeping much doesn’t mean he doesn’t need to sleep _some_ , apparently, because he looks like he might fall asleep right where he’s stood.

“Hey,” Dean says, failing to stop his fingers reaching out to squeeze lightly around his arm, “we’ll figure this out, okay? We all agreed on this. You, me, Sam, _and_ Jack; we’re gonna stay here for a while. It’s not all on you to teach him all this stuff.”

“I promised to—”

“I know what you promised, Cas,” Dean says, smiling a little as he squeezes his arm again before sliding his fingers away down his sleeve. “Don’t mean you gotta do it all on your own though, okay? So just… take it easy, would you? Sleep; room’s all made up.”

“Dean—”

“Or just, sit, Cas. Sit. I’ll get you some coffee, and—”

“Hey, Jack.”

Cas and Dean turn as one at the sound of Sam’s voice and watch him smile easily as he sinks down into a chair next to Jack.

“Wanna help me with something?”

“Me?” Jack asks looking startled, and, Dean thinks with his heart aching a little for him, hopeful. He’s a _boy_ , he sighs, and already this world’s tried to crush him.

“Yeah,” Sam says, and Dean wonders if either Cas or Jack notice the way he’s leaning close but holding himself stiffly just a little further from Jack than he would be if he was sitting next to either of them.

“Of course,” Jack tells him, nodding eagerly, already closing the book in front of him and neatly pushing it away.

“So, here’s the thing. Dean and I have been trying to catalog—work through all the old records, files, journals, and… all kinds of other stuff we've got here, that was left by the Men of Letters.”

“Yes,” Jack agrees, “there are books everywhere.”

“We’ve tried to organize them, get them in some kinda order, but there’s so many, we really could do with knowing what we’ve got.”

“Okay.”

“So,” Sam says, pushing his chair back softly and gesturing for Jack to follow. “I thought. Maybe you could start on one of the rooms we haven’t touched yet. Start making a list of what we have.”

“I—”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, but it’ll give us some idea,” Sam adds, smiling in encouragement.

“You want me to use my… powers?”

“Just your hands and eyes,” Sam smiles. “Think you wanna give it a go? I’ll show you the list I started; maybe you can work from that.”

“I would like that,” Jack says, looking humbled of all things, and Dean’s heart aches again. This kid might just be the death of him yet; just not in any of the ways he’s been expecting.

Cas and Dean continue to stare after Sam and Jack as they retreat down a hallway, listening to their voices echo back to them until it’s silent again. Dean’s both thrilled and terrified to have Cas’ company just to himself; there’s just so much that needs to be said between them that keeps getting put off. Honest words that spell out exactly what all those looks and private thoughts have been about between them for all this time.

Dean promised himself if he ever got Cas back—even when he’d lost all faith that he would—that if he had him in front of him again, he’d _talk_ to him, about all the things he’s been keeping and replaying inside his own head. Or, if he couldn’t do that, then at least ask him to stay, let Cas know where he belongs. And if any of that fails just grabbing him, kissing him senseless, hoping actions might speak a little louder than his unvoiced words. But instead all he does is stare back at him, words clawing up the back of his throat demanding they be heard, and not a single one of them making it out.

“How ‘bout that coffee, huh?”

* * *

Cas is as bad as he is, Dean thinks, swirling his thumb in a spot of coffee that splashed up from his mug when he’d set it down. They’d start talking, about anything, everything really, just like they used to—except for this thing that’s been an issue between them so long now, that it’s almost as much a part of Dean as he feels Cas is himself.

Exactly one minute after draining the last of his coffee, Cas had announced he wanted to check on Jack. Which left Dean sat where he is now, lost in his own thoughts, stuck with his own company, and cursing at himself for not having the courage to say the things he wants to say out loud.

“This is stupid,” he tells the air, scraping his chair back with force and stomping through the bunker in search of Jack and Cas. He can hear their voices as he makes his way down the hallways, knows Jack must have found something interesting for the excited way he’s speaking.

“Jack, it’s important that you understand what it is you’re reading before you read anything out loud. Some of the texts in this bunker contain magic; spells, and curses, and possibly other things that we don't know, that we need to treat with caution.”

“I know,” Jack agrees quickly, and Dean’s now just outside the doorway, so can hear the rustle of the pages that Jack’s turning loud and clear. “But Cas, this book is a _good_ book; I can _feel_ it. It’s full of happy things, and positivity; what’s so wrong about saying things like that out loud?”

“Nothing,” Cas replies, and Dean smiles as he hears Cas smiling. “It’s still important to be cautious; all the best intentions in the world can go astray with something just as small as a… mispronounced word, or wrong inflection.”

“Okay,” Jack says, but it’s that kind of petulant doubt that makes Jack sound more like a surly teenager than an apocalypse waiting to happen. “But just let me show you this.”

Dean listens to Cas taking a couple of steps forward and decides he needs to show his face, instead of lingering in the doorway like a creeper. He pushes back the door wincing as it creaks, and Cas and Jack look up at him in turn, greeting him with a soft smile, and an eager one respectively.

“Dean,” Jack says, beckoning him forward, “look. Look at this book. I can _read_ it.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean replies, lifting his head up just enough to look and having no idea what to expect.

“Yes.”

“What language is it in?”

“We don’t know yet,” Cas tells him, solemn as Cas is ever solemn, and oh, how much has Dean missed that.

“Cas says we should be cautious, because there could be _spells_ ,” Jack adds in a loud whisper, and Dean has to fight back the urge to smile.

“Yeah, well, he’s right,” he agrees, with a second’s glance at Cas that tells him Cas is almost as amused as he is.

“Of course,” Jack nods, his own face becoming serious for a second. But then he looks down at the page and his face lights up, and he’s glancing between them in excitement. “Look at this.”

Cas looks at Dean as Jack begins reading, and Dean looks back in equal alarm. Now Jack has begun speaking, it seems that he’s unable to stop; his face is the picture of confusion as a blush-colored light begins to pour from the pages and illuminate his face, that same light drifting lazily through the air to wrap around Dean and Cas, freezing them in place.

Dean tries to speak, but there’s no words coming out; at least there’s no words coming out voluntarily, or ones that he understands. He knows he says _something_ to Cas, and Cas says something back to him, and that the light swirling around them becomes charged, changes color; now a soft yellow that’s calming, comforting, making him feel warm inside.

There’s a gust of wind that slams the door shut behind them, and then that light pulses, feeling like an additional heartbeat that tethers him to Cas. There’s a shrillness in the air that Dean can’t put a voice to, music without an instrument in sight. Elation coursing through his blood that he doesn’t know the source of. And though he has absolutely no idea what’s going on, he’s got a feeling that everything’s going to be alright.

 

(art by [dmsilvis](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/))

* * *

“You’re uh, _married_.”

Dean’s hearing the words coming out of Sam’s mouth but he’s feeling a little dazed, and if honest, can’t seem to stop himself staring at Cas long enough to pay attention to anything else. Not that _that’s_ anything new, of course. It’s just that now he’s really _looking_ at Cas, _letting_ himself look, he can’t help but notice just how much he’s looking back.

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, smiling, and there’s a settled feeling in his chest that he’s sure he’s never felt before. Dean feels _peaceful_ , more certain of himself than he’s felt in months; probably because Cas is right there with him, he thinks to himself, wondering if he’s ever taken the time to notice the exact shade of blue of his eyes, or appreciated the squint that furrows up his brow.

“Married?” he catches himself saying, feeling like his brains on satellite delay from his mouth, and his heart’s like a pirate radio station just reacting to whatever waves it happens to be catching. It’s thudding, he thinks, but he’s not too sure; in fact, he’s not got any clue what’s happening.

But it would explain why there’s what looks like a tattooed ring circling his ring finger, and when Cas unclenches his fist, Dean sees the same on his hand. _Matching_ , he thinks, full of pride. In fact, Dean _feels_ married; he can’t explain how, since he’s never actually been married, but when he looks at Cas he gets a sense of belonging, and contentment that feels like a rest-of-life kind of deal, and feels _good_. Grounding.

“Yeah,” Sam says, and there’s pure mirth in his eyes when he looks up at Dean. “Jack _married_ you two, when he read this text out. It’s pretty binding too; we’d have to—”

“Jack,” Cas growls out, apparently no longer in the same contented mood Dean’s still mostly feeling, because he’s scowling; looks horrified, even. Dean wants to back away from the look on his face, feeling rejected already.

“I didn’t—”

“I asked you _not_ to read from that book—from _any_ book—until you were sure you understood it,” Cas says, his voice filled with exasperation.

"But—"

“This is not what I wanted,” Cas tells Dean urgently, as though he’s desperate for Dean to know he had no part in this. Dean’s hurting, badly, and he’s so confused by what’s happening, that he’s not even got a second to think _why_.

“How can—how can two people get married, without witnesses, without any kind of… planning for it, just by reading the words out from a book?” he asks, and he knows the question is stupid, but his words are still several seconds behind his brain.

“Weddings can take many forms and involve all kinds of processes that you might find unusual, Dean,” Cas says, bristling with discomfort.

“Such as?” Dean asks, needing the distraction from the anger Cas is radiating.

“During the proteleia—the _premarital_ —in Ancient Greece, sacrifices would be offered by the bride, such as locks of hair to symbolize her progression into womanhood,” Cas replies, staring back at Dean as he talks. “The _touching dance_ was performed by the Lillooet people, allowing potential husbands to grip the sashes of their potential brides; those whose attentions were unwanted were dismissed, and those that were still holding on by the end of the dance were considered to be married. Engaged couples in Mongolia must butcher a chicken together to find a healthy liver in an attempt to prove their compatibility. Celtic marriages use hand-fasting—”

“Okay,” Dean says, raising his hand up to stop him, “I get it; our _wedding_ ain’t all that unusual. But—”

“You must understand, that I would have prevented this from happening, if I had known the nature of that text,” Cas insists, staring even harder at Dean, as though willing him to understand.

“Cas—”

“I did not want this,” Cas says then with finality in his voice, and without another word Cas walks out the library, leaving Dean to watch him go, remembering every time Cas has ever walked away from him, and wondering how he’s going to get him to come back.

* * *

“I apologize for being… angry before,”

Cas finds him in his room a couple of hours later, and for a moment Dean curses himself for not having thrown himself in the Impala, scratched rubble into dirt and put some distance between them, left Sam and Cas to figure this out. But Cas is contrite when Dean swings his door open, and looks more nervous than Dean thinks he’s ever seen him, swallowing repeatedly as he worries at his tie.

“I get it, Cas,” Dean nods, and finds himself backing up to let him in, “it’s not exactly how I ever saw myself taking vows either.”

“But you did. See yourself getting married one day,” Cas asks, absently shrugging out of his trench coat to drape it over Dean’s chair, then turning around to face him.

“I… never thought it was something I would get to do.”

“Dean—”

“How’s Jack doing, huh?” Dean asks, not wanting to hear Cas’ reasons for why he’s so disgusted with the thought of the two of them being _married_. “Gotta have been a shock for him as well.”

“I also apologized to him for being angry,” Cas sighs, looking even more contrite as he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it. “Sam is with him now.”

“So, what happened back there?” Dean asks, not wanting to know, but thinking he needs to.

“We were under a spell.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that part out for myself,” Dean huffs. “But I meant—I don’t know what I meant, actually.”

He’s lying; he knows exactly what he meant and the exact words he needs to say to talk about it. But he won’t, he _can’t_ ; it’s just not his and Cas’ way.

“I believe the spell wore off quicker for me than it did for you,” Cas says, and to Dean’s surprise slumps to the foot of his bed, as though it’s a place he’s sat a hundred times before. In Dean’s _head_ perhaps, as well as doing all kinds of other things there. But that doesn’t mean—

“You mean we’re not under a spell now?” Dean asks, his heart fluttering in protest and not really able to pinpoint an exact reason for it.

“No,” Cas replies with a shake of his head. “The initial part of the spell is to produce feelings of mutual… affection. Create harmony between the would-be couple in case the nuptials are not… mutually reciprocated.”

“Like… forcing people into getting married?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s all kinds of gross.”

“It is.”

“So does that mean we’re not married now?” Dean asks, and asks his stomach why it’s dropping in disappointment.

“Oh, no; we are still very much married,” Cas tells him. “It is only the effects of the spell to keep us both… willing, throughout the ceremony, that has worn off.”

“So, how do we get out of it?” Dean asks, watching Cas stare down at the tattooed ring on his finger as he checks for his own.

“I looked at the spell again, and from the limited amount I could understand, it appears our choices are to find someone to reverse it for us—”

“Like a witch?”

“Like a witch,” Cas confirms, raising his head and smiling as though he can hear the refusal Dean’s already got on his tongue. “Find a counterspell; though I have already looked through several of the books in the same room, and there are none with text anything close to resembling that which Jack read from. Or, we wait it out. The spell is designed to encourage those who are reluctant to marry, and those that are particularly resistant will not even succumb to those initial… forced feelings for one another. There is a period of approximately two months during which the wed couple are supposed to resolve any differences between them, and after that time if they cannot, then the wedding becomes annulled.”

“So it’s not like a _real_ marriage, then?” Dean asks, again feeling a rush of disappointment.

“Not traditional, perhaps, but still as real a marriage as any of the ceremonies performed around the world that do not require a _marriage license_.”

Dean thinks about that, finds himself daydreaming about a regular wedding service with Cas stood opposite him with a triumphant look of love on his face, then tells himself to snap out of it. "Right."

"I want to assure you, Dean, you are not… _tied_ to me, in any way. If you wanted to go—"

"How come the spell wore off faster for you than me?" Dean asks, unable to shift the impression that Cas is so disgusted by the thought of them _together_ , that he's repeatedly telling him about this _nothing_ between them, to reassure himself.

All these years Dean's been aching for something to happen between them almost by accident, hoping time's the thing that will get their dumb heads out their asses and _fix_ them, and he's got it totally wrong. Cas _doesn't_ want him, doesn't reciprocate any of the things Dean's been feeling all this time. The reality of it hurts, and Dean's so struck by it, that he finds himself numbly crossing the room, slumping to the bed next to Cas, then pulling back so they're not too close.

Cas looks at the gap between them in silence, and Dean wonders if it's not enough.

"I assume because I'm an angel," he says.

Dean hadn't even considered that. "Oh."

"Do not worry, Dean. There is nothing residual from the spell that would make me attempt to _do_ anything to you," Cas adds, and if that doesn't pull Dean up short.

" _'Do'_?"

"Yes," Cas says, and there's a wistful smile there for a second, before he's frowning again and back to staring at his hand. "Spell, or no spell, I would never force myself on anyone in any way, or act on anything I wanted without being certain that they were things that were reciprocated."

Dean's stomach gives an uncomfortable knot at his words, a stab of panic for wondering if Cas has just read his mind.

"Cas—"

"I am used to wanting things that I cannot have, Dean," Cas adds, and that wistful smile is back again as Cas lingers his gaze on Dean's face, before he’s snatching his eyes away once more with a soft sigh.

"Like what?"

"So many things. It doesn't matter—"

"It does," Dean protests, because what things could Cas want? He's never really taken the time to consider that there might be things Cas wants for himself, which just makes him the most selfish asshole that doesn't even deserve Cas' friendship, never mind anything else he's been fantasizing about.

He starts to plan. Does Cas want new clothes? A new phone? Somewhere to keep the human things he occasionally gathers, like the photo frame Claire gave him one Christmas, or the book Jack found him in the bunker that he says reminded him of Cas? If he can't be more than his friend, then Dean's going to make sure he's the very best of friend. Cas means so much to him anyway, it's appalling Dean's not already done more for him.

"It doesn't, because like I said; I would never act on something that I knew wasn't returned."

Oh, Dean realizes, his stomach dropping again, it's not some _thing_ Cas wants, but some _one_.

Well, that changes things. Dean squares his shoulders, determined not to be selfish for once in this, to support Cas in whatever he needs to _make his move_. Though if honest, Dean's fairly sure there's a lot of bourbon in his future for having to think about Cas loved up with someone else. He already feels sick, and deathly jealousy for whoever the bastard is.

"How do you know it's not returned, huh, Cas?" Dean smiles, knows it's sickly, and tries to make it seem less false. "Been flat out told no?"

"No."

"Then maybe you should talk to them about it," Dean enthuses, even if his heart feels like it's shattering, which is ridiculous.

"Neither of us is _good_ at talking, Dean," Cas smiles, curiously. Dean hates that he's got that in common with his would-be rival, but nods, unconsciously splaying his fingers against his leg to stare at the ring around his finger.

"Then maybe it's just a case of timing then, huh? Might be waiting for you to—"

"It has been so many years now," Cas says, shaking his head first confidently, then in doubt. "Though I suppose it would seem like much longer from a human perspective than it does for me. I am very old."

"Gotta tell you, Cas, you're looking pretty good for a guy a few millennia old," Dean teases, and hell, even winks, kicking himself for it internally. This isn't helping either of them.

"For a man whose very essence was torn apart in hell over the space of forty years, you also look _pretty good_ ," Cas counters, and there's a softness to his smile that’s crinkling up the corners of his eyes, which Dean _loves_ seeing. The _human perspective_ comment catches up with him, though, and his heart is sinking all over again. Who is this _human_ that's had Cas' attention for so long—that _he's_ never known about?

"Thanks, Cas," is all he says though.

"Is that what you have been doing?" Cas asks then, turning a little to face him, and staring at Dean harder than Dean thinks he ever has done.

"What?"

"Waiting for me to… do something?"

Dean's heart thuds, and Cas' stare means he can't snatch his eyes away. "Cas?"

"All this time, that I have felt sure that you felt at least some of what I have been feeling, yet I couldn't ask; have you been waiting for me to… _make the first move_?"

Dean freezes. Rigid and teetering right at the edge of his bed, a hundred words screaming to be set free, while a dozen more demand that he keeps quiet, does his duty, doesn't _want_ more for his life. But Cas is staring back at him expectantly, and Dean suddenly sees it; the certainty that all he's thought he saw reflected in Cas' gaze over the years is exactly what's beating in his own heart. He hasn't been imagining it, wistfully dreaming up an existence that could never be brought into being. Cas _does_ feel something for him.

His choice, though, Dean realizes. He can keep up the facade, not risk anything between them—not risk losing something so important that the very thought of it means he can't breathe. Or, he can be brave, take something he wants for himself, take the chance to have what he wants.

Dean licks his lips, clears his throat, and edges a little closer to Cas.

"Think maybe you're _gonna_ have to make the first move, Cas."

"Why?" Cas asks, and there's no cruelty to it, just simple curiosity that's tilting his head, the sight of which is making Dean's heart dance.

"'Cos. I'm a coward."

"You're not a coward, Dean," Cas tells him firmly, edging a little closer himself.

"Am for stuff like this," Dean counters, his fingers trembling so hard when he reaches out to cling to the lapel of Cas' jacket to anchor himself, that he has trouble hooking them around it.

"Dean," Cas says, in that breathy way he does that never fails to catch Dean's attention.

Dean watches the dart of Cas' eyes to his lips, the nervous way he swallows, and moves a little closer still, nodding in encouragement.

* * *

“Hey,” Sam says when they walk through in the morning, greeting them both with a warm smile. “How’s my favorite married couple?”

“Listen, Sammy—”

But Sam’s too busy snorting at his own joke to wait to hear what he’s got to say. Dean doesn’t blame him, not really, even if his constant commenting the few times he saw him before Cas came to his room have been grating on his nerves, leaving Dean just about ready to jump out his skin.

“Anyway,” Sam says, clearing his throat, and Dean thinks, looks guilty for all of a second. “Come take a look at this.”

Dean looks at Cas and nods for him to follow, and they walk around behind Sam, with Dean reaching out to clasp Jack on the shoulder in passing as Cas mumbles a _good morning_ at him.

“What?” Dean asks, looking at the book laid out on the table that’s so large it’s almost as tall as the table is long.

“So, get this,” Sam says as he points to what’s probably a paragraph of text, but to Dean looks like some ancient scribe got bored jotting down the minutes of a meeting. “Jack and I were looking through this text this morning. It’s kind of like a book collating ancient treaties, customs, laws; things like that.”

“Okay. So?”

“So,” Sam says, glancing at Dean over his shoulder, then back at the book, “this is in the same script, language, whatever, that Jack read out to you in.”

“Can you read what it says, Jack?” Cas asks, peering down at the text in solemn concentration that Dean finds himself grinning at before realizing he’s doing it, and clears his throat.

“No,” Jack sighs. “I mean, yes; I can _read_ it, but I can’t understand it.”

“That same as yesterday?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Jack says, his head falling forward in contrition. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says immediately, squeezing his shoulder again and smiling when he looks up uncertainly at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time one of us has done something without thinking first. Means you’re part of the family.”

It’s the right thing to say. Jack’s expression softens and he breaks out into a huge, proud grin, that Cas echoes at Dean over the top of Sam’s head.

“Anyway,” Sam says, eyes darting to each of them in turn before turning back to the book. “It looks like this is a get out clause—a wedding annulment—that says if the married couple can’t resolve their differences and haven’t fallen in love within two months of the ceremony, then the wedding is automatically resolved. Annulled.”

Dean nods, because it’s only a repeat of what Cas had told him yesterday, but Sam looks up at him with that eager expectation he always has when he’s discovered something he thinks is going to be useful. “Okay—”

“So, essentially,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow that says he’s disappointed Dean isn’t as pleased as he is, “all you gotta do is wait out two months.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “just like that. The spell seems to be to put together reluctant couples; parents using it to encourage their daughters to accept the hands of guys with good dowries that they don’t particularly like, or sons who don’t want to marry girls that aren’t their type, or something, but the union of the two families is good for everyone else involved.”

“So—”

“So you just wait it out. Two months from now, you’ll just _stop_ being married. You don’t need to do a thing. Aside from, you know; not _act_ married.”

“' _Act married_ '?” Dean asks, shuffling on the spot.

“Yeah, you know. Don't make heart eyes at each other, romantic gestures; stuff like that,” Sam agrees. “Or, obviously, consummate the marriage.”

Dean goes perfectly still, his heart stopping, and his knees beginning to tremble, having just about enough strength to turn to look at Cas, who’s looking back at him with the same expression of, _oh, shit_.

“You’ll be happily divorced in no time,” Sam adds with pride in his voice, unaware of the way they’re staring at each other behind him.

Dean finds his voice first, or rather manages to clear his throat. “Uh, Sam…”


End file.
